By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (20 page)

         Selric grabbed for his sword which lay at
the head of the bed, but another blow nearly took his arm, and he leapt back
again.  Dunston hurled Selric’s sword across the room.  “Hey, that’s expensive,”
Selric said.  “Now that I think about it, that’s what the sailors on the ship
said about Andria, too.”  Dunston growled and jumped onto the bed, raising his
sword to decapitate Selric.  Selric grabbed the bed covers and pulled them
heavily, pulling Dunston’s feet out from under him.  The man fell straight off
the bed onto his back with a floor-shuddering crash.  Selric then flipped in
midair, over the bed and landed next to Dunston.  Before the man could catch
his breath Selric hit him four solid times in the face with a hand moving so
quickly the blows blurred into one.  Dunston laid his head back, blood running
out of his nose and mouth.  Selric was ready to strike again, but stayed his
hand:  he knew that it was not Dunston he wanted to hit.

         Selric stood up and looked at Andria. 
Her face was filled with hate.  He shook his head in disappointment and
dressed, rubbing himself.  “What a scare,” he said looking down, talking to his
own body.  Then he turned to Andria while she too dressed.  “You’re quite an
actress.”  He jumped on the bed and bounced to the door, then turned and
flipped a gold coin onto the floor at her feet; in Andrelia, a decent fee for a
prostitute.  “It was still pretty good, but if you would’ve finished, I’d have
given you two.”  By the time Andria picked the coin up to throw it at him,
Selric was gone and she placed the money on her dresser.

         “Oh Dunston, get up.  And clean up that
blood,” she said.

         Selric walked to the Stormweather owned
Harvest
Hearth
where he and his brother, when not at
The Unicorn’s Run
, had
their drinks and private conversations.  He swilled several beers with Russ,
the barman, before heading to
The Run
to visit the new girl, Tasha, whom
he had first met the day after his return from the East when he had gone there
with Mendric.  It turned out to be Tasha’s night off and no one knew where she
had gone so Selric sat at the bar talking with the employees, not desperate for
company, always the center of attention for employees and patrons both. 

         It was then that four guests entered, immediately
drawing his gaze.  First, naturally, he noticed Cinder:  gorgeous, short dress,
long legs.  Then came Dirk, wide shouldered with muscles aplenty.  Melissa was
next, her face beautiful and athletic body attractive.  Lithe Fiona, an air of
intelligence and charisma in her pretty features, was the last.  They came in
and sat down, and as usual, it didn’t take Cinder long to notice the most
handsome man in the room.  Cinder and Selric eyed each other for several
minutes, so Cinder missed the conversation at the table.  Her incoherence to
their questions drew the attention of her friends to the man at the bar and
Selric turned away, deciding not to go over, at least not for a little while.

         “Do you have to look at every guy?” Dirk
asked angrily.

         “Oh, leave her alone,” said Fiona. 
“There’s nothing wrong with appreciating beauty,” she said as she too stared at
Selric.  “He’s gorgeous.  I wonder if that’s…hmm,” she finished.

         “Who?  Could be who…I don’t look at every
guy,” Cinder said turning from Fiona to Dirk in mid sentence.

         “Gorgeous!” Dirk blurted.  “Gorgeous! 
Blah.”  He raised his hand, signaling for a wench.  “Why am I out with three
women?  I think I must be crazy.”

         “Because you love us,” Fiona joked.  Dirk
nodded in an exaggerated manner, agreeing sarcastically with her.

         “I thought we were here to discuss an
adventure,” Melissa sighed.

         “I’d rather talk about handsome men,”
Cinder said, teasing Dirk.

         “Stop it Cinder,” he warned.  Dirk had
met Cinder as she finished work, and they met Fiona and Melissa outside
The
Unicorn’s Run
, which was an equal distance from their homes, lying in the
heart of the city, in the mixed central district, a combination of government
facilities and noble interests. 

         The serving wench took their order: 
Cinder’s brandy, Fiona’s wine, Dirk and Melissa’s beer.  “I’ve got an idea,”
started Fiona.  “Have you heard about the thieves that steal temple artifacts
and defile the altars?  Needless to say, the clergy want these people caught
and there is a big reward.”

         Dirk looked across at her.  With her
short, spiked hair, youthful appearance, combined with her leather armor, he
could picture Fiona hanging out with gang thugs on a street corner.  But at
other times, like when she wore a dress, or when she spoke, he could never make
that mistake:  Fiona’s language was too elegant and she carried herself like a
true lady, as if of the nobility herself.

         “What?” Fiona asked.  Dirk didn’t realize
that he’d been staring, and he quickly averted his eyes to keep from giving her
the wrong impression. 

         “I said,” he conjured, “how...” he
paused, trying to remember what she had been saying.

         “How do we catch this guy,” Melissa said,
looking at him strangely, wondering as to his distraction.

         “Yeah,” Dirk added, “let me finish.”  He
stared back at her, trying to hide his lie.

         “Sorry.  Go ahead,” Melissa said, rolling
her eyes.

         “That’s all,” replied Dirk.  The women
looked at him as if he were a moron.  He shrugged.  “Well, wait,” he
interrupted Fiona just as she began again.  “This isn’t what I meant by
adventure.  I meant lost cities and treasure hoards; treks across the Wild. 
Not bounty hunting.”

         “If you’d like to end your poverty,
you’ll take what you can get,” Fiona said.

         “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he
sighed.  “And I’m not poverty-ish…or poverty-like…or whatever!”  He got mad,
unable to find the right word.

         The serving girl brought their drinks;
slipping in during their discussion as they milled over ideas of where to begin
their search for over half-an-hour, “if I decide to do such a lame adventure...”
Dirk was sure to add again and again.

         Soon, the wench brought the group an
unordered round of drinks, pointing to Selric.  Dirk and Fiona turned and
raised their drinks in salute and Selric returned it with his own mug.  “Well,
how can we find these thieves?” Dirk asked, turning back to his friends, his
impatience growing.  “Let’s get busy.”

         “First, I have a question,” said
Melissa.  She looked at Cinder.  “No offense, but why is she here?”

         “Fiona said so,” Dirk said.

         “Why?” she asked Fiona.  Then she turned
back to Dirk.  “And since when do you listen to Fiona?”

         “She asked me to bring her, so I did,”
Dirk said defensively.

         “Because she’s half-elven,” Fiona said. 
Melissa gasped.  Dirk sat unmoving and Cinder hadn’t heard; she was looking
over her shoulder at Selric.  Her race had never been mentioned, especially by
Cinder, not even to Dirk.  She thought it easier to study humans if she was
believed to be one herself.  Dirk had been over her body enough times to notice
the slight differences, mainly her eyes and a slight fragrance, but he just
figured that to be perfume.  But there were other indicators:  the slight sweep
of her brows, the faint point to her ears visible rarely beneath her mound of
hair, and the delicate curve of her slender bone structure.  He knew she was
different but he never thought she was half-elven:  he had never even heard of
a being such as a ‘half-elf’.  He knew of elves, everyone did, but knew nothing
of their interbreeding.

         “How do you know?” Melissa asked,
studying Cinder’s face as if a puzzle was hidden there and Cinder blushed.

         “A lot of reasons,” Fiona said,
mentioning the same things Dirk was thinking, as well as the nearly
undetectable accent that slipped on uncommon or difficult words.  It took a
keen eye and quick brain to detect such subtleties in casual meetings, if one
had never met one of the “People” before.  Fiona had both the mind and the eye
to notice as much.  Selric recognized her heritage as well, having met the elusive
elves on several occasions. 

         Cinder was now looking at Fiona.  “Why
don’t we tell the whole world?” she asked sarcastically.

         “I’m sorry.   I didn’t mean to give up
your secret,” Fiona said, “but that’s why you’re here.  I just assume that you
have some aptitude for magic and keener-than-human senses.  You could be
helpful to our effort.”

         “I think so,” Cinder said with slight
haughtiness.

         With Cinder’s attention finally off of
him, Selric walked over, and when Cinder turned back to flirt with him again, she
found he was not there.  When she turned back to Fiona, her face pouting and
disappointed, she found Selric standing between them.  She screamed and jumped,
so startled that she almost fell out of her chair.  Then she started laughing
and so did Fiona.  Selric smiled.

          “Thanks for the drinks,” said Dirk
sincerely.

         “You are welcome,” Selric said, bowing
his head slowly and politely, as a servant.   “I could not help but overhear
you.  It seems you want to find the temple perpetrators.”

         “I guess,” scoffed Dirk, still unhappy
with their choice of adventures.

         “I also heard that you don’t know where
to start.”  They looked at him attentively.  “I think I can help you.”

         “Pull up a chair,” said Fiona with an
eager smile.

         “Thank you,” Selric said.  He pulled one
from another table, but did not sit down, instead, holding his hand out to Dirk
across the table.  “Selric Arnesson Stormweather.”                        

         “I knew it,” Fiona said excitedly.

         He introduced himself around the table,
kissing Cinder’s hand, then Fiona’s.  When he reached for Melissa’s, she pulled
it away, but he caught it and lifted it gently over the table.

         “That’s silly,” Melissa giggled.  “Just
shake it.”

         “That would not do.  A lady of your noble
bearing deserves her hand kissed by an admirer,” Selric said, a twinkle in his
eye and a sly, playful grin on his face.  Cinder sat slack-jawed, wondering why
she was not getting the attention.

         “I’m not noble,” Melissa said.  “I’m from
Stoneheim,” she said as if it were synonymous with lower class.

         “I’m sure there are many noble women in
Stoneheim, amongst which you are foremost in beauty and in charm.”  Melissa
blushed.  Dirk, even Fiona, had never seen her so humbled.  When she looked
down, Selric gave Dirk a friendly wink.  Dirk could not help but smile, despite
his jealousy.  Selric then sat down.

         “Stormweather?” Fiona asked in awe.

         “Uh, yeah,” Selric said, almost as if
embarrassed, though he did not seem so when he loudly stated his name.  “Pros
and cons to that,” he added with a sheepish grin.

         “Whoa, “ Dirk said, finally realizing
what was being talked about.  “One of
the
…”

         “Yes.  My father is Andric…”

         “And his grandfather Helmric,” Fiona
interrupted.

         “Oh those generals from that war when I
was little.  Wow..they are like famous. 
You
are like famous,” Dirk said
with an appreciative nod.

         “Where was I,” Selric continued after a
long laugh.  “Ahh, yes.  I’m quite familiar with the back streets.  I know a
lot of people there.  I’m in a bit of a bind with my family and I think that
some
good
publicity for the family name might boost my standing with
them.  I’ll help you find all I can and, in my spare time, help you conduct the
search.  In return, I’ll take a share of the reward and the glory, as well as
whatever else you give.”  He took Cinder’s hand and kissed it softly, slowly;
looking seductively into her entrancing eyes.  She giggled and adored his
attention.  Selric looked at Dirk.  “You don’t mind, do you?  One of these must
be your companion for the evening, but not all three.  Even I’m not that
lucky.  At first I thought them three ladies of the evening, and you their
keeper.”  He smiled so kindly that it was unmistakably a jest.

         Cinder had been in mid-drink and spit her
brandy all over the table in her laughter:  she was becoming more silly with
each drink.  Every time she laughed, Fiona did.  But this time even Melissa
chuckled.  Dirk finally gave in as well, hearing Cinder’s delicate voice in its
sweet laughter.

         “The singing of a nightingale,” Selric
said, kissing Cinder’s hand one more time.  She laughed harder and so did
Fiona.  “Aren’t you two rather gay this evening?”  They kept laughing and it
quickly grew out of control, Selric’s humorous expressions and false voices
bringing the ladies to tears.  He looked at Dirk.  “Just about anything is
funny to them, isn’t it?”  Dirk nodded his agreement.

         “Yeah, they’re pretty weird,” Melissa
added.  Her simple, cute, matter-of-factness took their laughter a notch
higher.  Cinder soon could not breathe.